Reluctant Hero
by Southern Trip
Summary: Remy plays the part of the good samaritan, and gets more than he bargained for. Give it a chance, I suck at summaries. Please Review! Chapter Two up!
1. Default Chapter

Whenever she pictured heroes in her mind, they were always billionaires in spandex suits so bright they should come with a UV warning, who fought crime as a hobby between social events. Her own personal hero turned out to be far different. Shoulder length auburn hair that she knew some women would kill for, an old leather duster probably older than she was, and a Cajun accent that would've been cheesy on anyone else. She used to waste time wondering why he did it. Saved her, that is. She knew that she didn't quite fit the 'damsel-in-distress' stereotype. But then, he didn't really resemble the atypical saviour. They were just a pair of mold breakers. Maybe he saw in her what he saw in himself. A loner, an outsider who didn't really belong. If that was the case, then maybe they were destined to be together. She had never asked him why he did it, and she doubted he would even have an answer if she did. He would just smile that smile he did, the one that could make her do just about anything, and shrug. Probably say something, like how he couldn't abandon such a beautiful girl and still honestly call himself a gentleman. He never lost points for cheesiness.

True to form, she met her hero on the worst day of her life. Wandering the streets of Seattle, Washington, with nothing to her name but the clothes on her back. A boarding card stuck out of the front pocket of her ratty corduroys; her last pennies had been spent on the fare from Alaska. Although it seemed like a good idea at the time, her stomach was now thoroughly resenting the decision. She sub-consciously tightened her demin jacket around her thin frame. The weather was not unreasonable for early spring, but she found herself shivering nonetheless. Seattle was certainly bigger than the backwater town she had grown up in; it was almost awe-inspiring in comparison. The sky scrapers that stretched up farther than she could see, combined with the throngs of people bustling this way and that along the street created a sense of lonliness that she hadn't felt before stepping off the plane. It certainly wasn't the first time she'd been subjected to her own company; she'd been travelling alone for the greater part of two weeks. But never before had it been so apparent.

She glanced up at the cloud covered sky, and frowned. In her home town of Yakutat, night fell quickly, with no warning save for the sudden drop of a few degress of warmth. She had never been in a city with a size comparable to Seattle, but she knew that with the abundance of unnatural lighting, it would be difficult to detect the coming of night. Still, she was perceptive enough of climate changes to have felt the temperature drop several degrees in the past hour. A sense of urgency washed over her then; she was not all too eager to spend the night on the streets of a strange new city. So food first, something to placate her rumbling stomach. Then she would be able to concentrate her energies on finding somewhere to stay. Granted, her options in both areas was definitely wanting, but she was confident enough in her adaptibility to figure something out.

She spied a small market type grocery store down the road, and set about to cross the semi-busy street to reach it. Although she was loath to break the law in any case, her survival placed higher on her list of priorities. With no money in her pocket, and nothing on her person suitable to pawn or sell, she would have to rely on her less than ideal shoplifting skills.

A small brass bell hung above the entrance to the market announced her arrival. Grateful for the gust of warm air that blasted down from an overhead vent, she allowed herself to relax slightly; her arms unwound themselves from her body and hung down at her sides. She noticed almost instantly the lack of security features, something that seemed strange given the big city location. The store seemed almost like it had been airlifted from a no-name town in the South. But rather than ask questions about the lack of cameras and floor staff, she thanked whatever powers that be for her luck. The middle-aged man sitting behind the register silently reading a copy of Time Magazine eyed her warily, before her shy smile reassured him, and he continued with his literature.

She wandered down the neatly kept aisles, occasionally pulling something from the shelf as if to compare ingredients and price, before returning it with a slight shake of her head. She knew she wouldn't need much; previous experience had taught her that her body did not require a lot of food, just the right kinds in small amounts. Eventually she arrived at her goal; power bars. A quick glance at the shopkeeper told her he no longer suspected her of anything. She grabbed three in one hand, not bothering to care about flavours, and slipped them into her jacket. She sent another fleeting look at the only other person in the store, and was suddenly confident she had pulled it off. Remembering to smile apologetically on her way out, she managed to keep the keenness out of her stride as she headed to the door.

'Mission accomplished!' she thought to herself, as her stomach sent out an appreciative rumble. She could practically taste those bars already. She reached out to push open the door, when a hand seemed to materialize out of nowhere and clamp down on her shoulder.

"Going somewhere, miss? Not without paying for those bars, I hope," a deep, gravelly voice boomed out. The hand on her shoulder that she was certain would prove to be nothing but bones pulled her back into the store, and turned her sharply. She came face to face with a wrinkle faced security guard she hadn't even seen, who was staring down menacingly at her. He was dressed in what she had come to think of as a standard security guard get-up; dark blue pants paired with a lighter blue button-up shirt, some kind of metal security emblem on the right breast, and a gun belt fitted snugly around his waist. Her blue eyes widened slightly at that last; she recognized the gun as one of lower calibur, certainly not as damaging as some she had seen, but it was still a gun, for crying out loud. His hand remained on her shoulder, but the toe of his left boot started tapping impatiently as if he actually expected her to answer. Her jaw slowly fell open; she had not prepared for this contigency and was therefore at a loss as to how to proceed.

"Jesus, fille, dere you are!"

Both security guard and young girl turned to the sudden voice, as a man rushed forward from another corner of the store. Her face instantly flushed red; it seemed as though she wasn't nearly as perceptive as she originally thought. This man, although she was certain she had never met him before, pulled her into a tight, bone crushing hug. She barely had time to register how good he smelt before he was releasing her, leaving a secure arm around her shoulders. "I turn m'back for deux minutes, and you disappear!"

He spoke with an accent that seemed so corny it almost had to be real. A black wool toque was pulled down low over his head, and despite being indoors, his eyes were hidden behind a pair of mirrored lense sunglasses. She got the impression, mostly from the sunken cheeks and what she fervently hoped was his hip digging into the small of her back, that when he was at an ideal weight, he was really quite handsome. The ankle length light brown duster he wore wasn't revealing anything about the body underneath, however.

Meanwhile, the security guard was favouring the both of them with an appraising look, almost as if he was trying to decide whether or not to proceed with whatever he had had in mind previously. The man with his arm currently rather possessively around her shoulders seemed to sense this.

"Je suis vraiment desole, monsieur. M'niece, she is a sweet girl, but she be a little slow on de uptake, if you take m'meaning." He tapped the side of his head with a long fingered hand, as though to illustrate exactly where his "niece" was lacking. He coaxed a subtle smile out of the security guard, who responded pleasantly, "oh, it's no trouble, I understand. They can be a handful."

He accommodated the older man with a dazzling grin, then reached into some inner pocket of his jacket and pulled out a twenty dollar bill. "Fo' y'troubles, monsiuer. I appreciate your discretion."

The security guard gratefully accepted the twenty in a two handed shake, and deftly shoved it in a side pocket on his gun belt. He smiled knowingly at the younger girl. "You really should be more careful, miss. Next time you get caught, you might not be so lucky."

She smiled tightly at him, and had enough presence of mind to look sheepish. She wasn't entirely sure what was going on, but giving that this man who still had his arm around her had just saved her butt, she decided she would go along with it for the time being.

"C'mon, petite,"he said gently, another nod in the direction of the guard as he herded her out the door. "Let's get you back home, eh?"

He pushed open the glass door with his free hand, and they rejoined the crowd of people on the busy street. He continued holding her tightly to him long enough for her to begin to worry. Surely he was only trying to help her out; she couldn't have possibley found this much trouble on her first night in the city...

They rounded a corner onto a far less busy street, and after a careful glance over his shoulder, he suddenly dropped his arm from around her shoulders. Without the support she had found herself relying on, she stumbled and nearly fell. But with an incredible feat of balance and pin-wheeling of her arms, she managed to keep her footing. The man whose name she didn't even know continued walking without looking back. In fact, she was quite sure he had picked up his pace.

"Hey, wait a sec!" She moved forward to a jog, but he made no acknowledgement as to having heard her. She caught up to him after a few storefronts, and reached out with one hand to snag his wrist. Before her fingers found purchase, he had whirled around and was staring her down almost as threateningly as the security guard originally had. He didn't say anything, but instead inclined his head slightly to the right, as if he was prepared to hear what she had to say.

She cleared her throat, suddenly uncomfortable with the intensity of the gaze that was not in the least diffused by the dark sunglasses. "Um, I...Well, why did you do that? Help me, I mean."

He smirked then, the corners of his lips turning up into an almost-smile, and shook his head slowly. "Mebbe you look like you can use some help, eh?"

A ghost of a smile passed over her face, before her brow creased in a deep frown. "But why? Where I come from nobody helps anybody else without some kind of ulterior motive."

He shrugged, a lazy lift of the shoulders that was barely noticeable. "Does dere have to be a reason? Why can't I just want to help?"

A cab pulled up to the curb just ahead of them, illuminating the look of anger that suddenly twisted her features. In the shadows cast across her face, she looked older, world weary almost. "Nobody just wants to help."

His expression softened considerabley, and his voice was gentle and soft when he said, "you right about dat, petite. Mebbe I saw a bit o'me in you. So what?"

Her gaze narrowed as she studied his face in the low light. She wished stupidly that he would take those sunglasses off, so she could at least look him in the eye when she said this next bit. "Well, regardless of why, I guess, thank you. For helping me."

That almost-smile graced his features again. "T'ink not'ing of it, petite. In fact, take it as a sign to better yo'skills. You got a lot to learn bout being a t'ief."

He nodded in parting, then turned away slowly and continued on his way. Looking back, she can never quite be certain why she said what she did next. He had given her no reason to believe he might be able to help her in the way she needed it, but regardless she was convinced in a way she had never felt before that he was the right man to ask.

"So teach me!"she shouted to his rapidly retreating back. His pace slowed, eventually to a stop, and he turned back around on his heel. For a long moment he studied her, and she could almost see his lips forming the affirmative. But then his eyebrows nearly disappeared beneath his hat, and his shoulders were suddenly shaking with silent mirth. Dry barks of laughter were spat out his lips; he seemed either disinclined or unable to hold them in. He bent forward at the waist, resting his hands on his knees, and continued to tremble with apparent hilarity.

"Is it really that funny?"she asked drily, hands on her hips. He appeared not to have heard. It occurred to her then without probable cause that something wasn't right. She took a hesitant step forward as he started to wobble, then with very little warning he crashed to the pavement like a ton of bricks.


	2. Chapter Two

    He dreamt of bus rides through deserts. Hours spent with nothing to look at but sand and scrub, until his hidden trove of memories actually seemed less painful than his current reality. He dreamt of young girls with sea-blue eyes, with a great deal more to them than they let on. He dreamt of family that was no longer, and a home that had seen more welcoming days. His dreams seemed endless, without borders, endings and beginnings. But nothing can last forever. He was pulled back to consciousness by pain. Intense, throbbing pain, localized for the most part in his head; a pounding in his temples that made simple remembering difficult. His chest felt tight and heavy, as though there was a great weight resting on it. Breathing had become a chore. His hands and feet tingled, in the way that made him think of frost bite. But that couldn't be possible. He had made it out of that frozen wasteland; he had called upon all his skills as a thief and an all around scoundrel to ensure his survival, and he had. Consequently, frost bite was now the least of his problems.

    Highest on his list of priorities was trying to remember how he had gotten from where ever he was last night to the motel room he currently found himself lying in. It seemed to have been taken straight from a cheesey seventies horror film, complete with matching twin beds and hideously tacky turquoise bedspreads. The nighttables that flanked both beds, and tv cabinet that lined the opposite wall were all made chipped formica, the kind that made the thief in him wrinkle his nose in disgust. The headache that dragged him from his dreamworld was not reminiscent of a hangover; if it was alcohol related the burning in his chest was a symptom he'd never experienced before. Besides, he didn't seem to remember feeling the inclination to force amnesia on himself through the effects of alcohol. He vaguely recalled a security guard of some description, and there was something else; some tiny detail that seemed too slippery for him to grasp. His mind seemed to be stuck on the image of a young girl, with eyes the same blue as the Mediterranean sea. He remembered thinking that she looked like she could use some help, and that he was happy to oblige. But she hadn't let him leave it at that. She had followed him down the street and...asked him if he could teach her. The specifics of their conversation eluded him, but he thought it had something to do with the security guard.

    He shook his head suddenly, and blew out a soft sigh. All this remembering was great, but it didn't help him figure out what he was doing lying in a bed with his duster and boots halfway across the room. There was a gap in the time she had asked for his help, and him waking up in this motel room. He frowned in concentration, but his train of thought was abandoned suddenly when he became aware of a key entering the lock of the room door. He slipped out of bed with little sound and fluid motion, stood in front of the night table, balancing his weight on the balls of his feet in fight-ready position. After an apparent struggle with the door knob the door was pushed open, and the very same girl who'd been on his mind this whole time stepped inside, with a paper bag filled with groceries on her hip. She sent him a bored glance, then said, "oh, good. You're awake. I was beginning to wonder."

    He watched her warily as she carried the bag over to the second bed, and started emptying it's contents. A bottle of water, a box of soda crackers, instant soup, cough syrup, a tupperware bowl. She looked different, he decided as she folded the bag carefully into thirds. It was hard to pinpoint exactly how, but he knew he would be less likely to help her should he have just met her now. Then he noticed the slightly rumpled look of the other bed, and the plain white towel hanging over the back of the chair to dry. So she'd used the facilities while he'd been out for the count. She glanced over at him, realized he'd been staring at her for quite some time, and frowned just noticeably.

    "I hope you don't mind. I found some money in your jacket, so I got you this room. And then I noticed how damn skinny you were, so I figured you could use some food."

She studied his face, apparently trying to gauge his reaction, but he wasn't giving away any clues. She shrugged, probably more to herself than for his benefit, and pushed some small slips of paper into his hands. "Here's the receipts. It's all still there, minus what the room and the food cost, if you don't believe me."

When he didn't have an answer for her, she turned her back to him and busied herself with newly purchased foodstuffs.

        "How'd I get here?"he asked after a long moment of silence. She twisted around to regard him, appearing surprised at having heard his voice, slightly gravelly with non-use. She turned back to her preparations, and her words were distant when she said, "You collapsed when I was talking to you, so I brought you here."

He smirked. "What, you carried me?"

Her answer was a half shrug. "Something like that."

    It was then that he realized that he had broken his own cardinal rule: Never underestimate the enemy. But then this girl wasn't necessarily an enemy, was she? Granted, she had taken his money and spent it without his consent. But he had yet to see any sign that she's used any of it on herself. Did it really qualify as stealing if the money bought him food and a warm bed to sleep in?

She knelt in front of the small cabinet against the opposite wall, and after a moment's rummaging in one of the cupboards, pulled out a kettle. She disappeared into the attached ensuite, and the sound of the tap running could be heard. Back in the main room now, she plugged the kettle into a wall outlet, and set it down on the cabinet. His frown was just noticeable. "What are you doing?"

She looked up with almost surprise, as if she had forgotten he was there. "Making soup. You need to eat something." Her gaze ran up and down his body in a platonic, almost appraising way that suddenly had a blush creeping up his neck regardless. He sat down hard on the edge of the bed, and continued to watch her as she ripped open a package of chicken noodle soup. While she waited for the kettle to boil, she grabbed the cough syrup off the bed and tossed it at him. He caught it easily, without a flinch, but sent her a questioning glance nonetheless.

    "For your cough,"she said, in reply. When he served to only look more confused, she smiled gently. "You spent half the night trying to hack up a lung in your sleep. Can't you feel it? Doesn't your chest hurt?"

It had been such a long time since anyone had shown any actual interest in his well-being that he was at a loss for what to say. He settled for staring at her dumbfoundedly. She laughed softly, and despite himself, he answered her with a smile. "You're not used to having people look after you, are you?"

He ducked his head to read the label on the bottle, partly to avoid replying, and partly to hide the tears that ridiculously came to his eyes. He sniffed loudly, and suddenly wished there was something for him to do. Almost as if reading his thoughts, the kettle whistled loudly in the otherwise quiet of the room. He leapt to his feet, and reached the cabinet before she had even gotten up. He ripped the plug out of the wall, and as he poured boiling water into the proferred bowl, he asked, "so why did you help me, petite? Where I come from people t'ink not'ing to rob a body blind."

Her resulting grin was wide and disarming as she dropped a plastic spoon into the bowl of soup. "'Mebbe you look like you can use some help, eh?'"

Her imitation Cajun accent was butchery, and before he had the sense to be insulted, a smile nearly matching hers for intensity crossed his face. She sat back on her heels, and watched expectantly as he stirred the soup slowly. Something occurred to him then; the way her hands were neatly folded in her lap, the hungry, almost pained look in her blue eyes, the way she licked her lips in an attempt at inconspicuousness.

He motioned to the cabinet, and the coffee set that rested on top of it. "Hand me dat mug, will ya, petite?"

She did, and he emptied half of his piping hot soup into it. Without waiting for a protest, he shoved the bowl and spoon into her hands and took a careful sip out of the mug.

    "Hey, this is supposed to be for you! I don't need it half as much as you obviously do."

He looked up at her slowly, and took another long drink of his soup. "You a growin' girl, petite. You need de nourishment. 'Sides, I won' be able to keep all dis down, bien?"

She studied his face for a long minute, then eventually sighed heavily and smiled. "Thank you. I really appreciate it."

He shrugged off her gratitude, but otherwise did not reply. The room fell into a comfortable conversationless quiet, the only sounds were the clinking of a spoon against a bowl, and an occasional careful slurp of hot liquid.

As he felt the soup drain into his empty stomach and prayed it stayed there, he considered his options. Not many of the places he had come to think of as home over the years would exactly welcome him back with open and loving arms. He'd done it himself, made sure that all of his bridges were burned so that when he ended up in a situation like this, he would have nothing and no one to rely on other than his own frightening ingenuity, and years of extensive training to survive in just such a circumstance as this. In simpler terms, he was on his own.

"What's your name?"

He was unable to disguise the start his body gave when the girl spoke up. He blinked at her for a moment, then frowned. "What?"

A smile flitted across her face. "I asked you what your name was. We've been in this room for, like, twenty minutes, and I don't even know your name. Mine's Hailey, by the way."

A name. All she wanted was a name. It was a simple enough question, but yet he found himself hesitating just the same. The thief in him demanded an alias, some arbitrary name to get her off his back, but nothing that could indict him down the road. Despite knowing this, he surprised himself by saying, "Remy. You can call me Remy, petite."

A/N: Okay, I know it's been a while, and if anyone missed this, I apologize. More X-Men coming up in later chapters, but for now, it's all about le diable blanc. (He is just gorgeous for a comic book character, don't ya think!)


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